


Make Believe

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [11]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>For the first time in his life, he thought Uther Castus might be proud of his son.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Believe

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during Lancelot's early academy days. Part of the Live By The Sword 'verse; all stories posted in the order they were written.
> 
> Arthur, a cop, and Lancelot, a made man's son.
> 
> Lyrics and title courtesy of Weezer.

_There’s the pitch, slow and straight  
All I have to do is swing_

Lancelot’s arms had some nice new bruises on them, courtesey of heavy weapons practice. He had insisted on learning some arcane fighting methods; he might be the only one aside from Arthur who would be an expert with a bo staff. His hips and biceps ached as well from trying to perfect the cross draw he was using with two guns.

 

He lay on Arthur’s bed, his hand resting over his eyes, his plain pants and polo shirt soaked in sweat and streaked with dust. 

 

He had never felt more alive. He grinned at the cheesiness of the thought; who in the hell would have ever thought Roland Benoit’s son would end up being a white hat?

 

The door downstairs slammed shut, and he smiled again. “Up here,” he called before Arthur could yell out for him.

 

He heard things rattling around in the kitchen, then the soft thump of familiar footfalls on the open staircase.

 

“Ah! Cold!” Lancelot gasped as the chilly wetness of a beer bottle was pressed against his neck. He flopped his hand down off his eyes, and glared at the man that sat next to him. “That gets more amusing every time you do it.”

 

“Then stop reacting,” Arthur smirked, one of his dark brows raised. He smiled at Lancelot, then took a deep pull off his bottle.

 

“You’re sweating on my sheets,” he added, hiding his expression with another sip of his drink.

 

Lancelot shrugged. “Done it before. I’m sure you weren’t complaining – ow!”

 

*

 

Arthur had thought for sure his insomnia would get better when Lance had actually made it through the first few months of the academy.

 

The younger man had been in school for almost a year now – and Arthur’s inability to sleep had gotten worse, not better. He was constantly on watch, for the press, for Lance’s family, for criminals just out to kill cops. It wasn’t a restful way to live.

 

Lancelot stayed at Arthur’s loft more and more frequently, especially on Friday nights. It was just easier to jump on the lightrail and come straight there, versus going all the way to his small apartment in Santa Monica, then back to Arthur’s home near downtown.

 

It had been a good year and a half since Lance had totally separated from his family, and their chokehold on him had lightened considerably. Arthur knew, though, without a doubt that they would always be watching their golden child, keeping their eyes on him for any remote trace that he would be swinging in favor of coming back to the fold. Without Roland alive, the Benoit’s didn’t have as much power over Lancelot; however, that didn’t keep them from hoping.

 

Arthur also knew that was unlikely to happen, and even if it did, Gwen wouldn’t relinquish her hold on the family reins. Arthur had been shocked and saddened when she took up the mantle Lancelot had abandoned quickly. The smart, funny, attractive young woman had vanished inside the warrior way too quickly for Arthur’s liking. He hadn’t spoken to her in as many years as Lancelot had been away from them.

 

His face was bathed in the greenish glow from his computer. He had tried watching televsion, had tried drinking some wine, had tried walking around the large room to tire himself out. Nothing worked. He scrubbed at his face, the stubble rasping against his hand. A sigh shot out of his nose; he stood, shutting the laptop, making his way to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony that wrapped around his building.

 

_You are taller than a mountain  
deeper than the sea, you are_

 

The LA sky was light like it usually was at all hours of the night; just because it was 3 am didn’t mean the life of the city stopped. In fact it generally meant things were just getting going.

 

Arthur leant on the railing, and watched the police choppers buzz by, his eyes closing against the wind that rose from the south. Damn Santa Ana’s always made everyone crazy. Well, crazier than normal. And the moon was full. 

 

“Can’t sleep?” the tired voice came from behind him. Arthur turned his head, smiling apologetically at Lancelot.

 

“Sorry. I was trying not to wake you,” he said quietly. Lance shook his head, one arm slinging itself around Arthur’s waist. The younger man was half dressed, his baggy sweats hanging off his hips like some teenage wanna be. “Can’t sleep very well when you’re not there,” he answered, pulling Arthur to him briefly, his arm tightening.

 

Arthur brushed his lips softly against Lancelot’s temple, then turned his face to the vista again. “I have Monday off, Arthur,” Lance commented innocently. “I know you do as well. We haven’t been anywhere in a long time.”

 

“That’s because the press follows you,” Arthur answered tetchily. He sighed again. “Sorry. Tired.” Lancelot rubbed his hand along Arthur’s spine. “They don’t really now that I’m proving to be boring news. It’s much better drama to follow the mess Gwen’s making.” He smiled bleakly. He missed his sister too.

 

“Where do you want to go?” Arthur asked, giving in. Once Lance had an idea in his mind, there was generally no way to dissuade him. “Beach,” Lancelot answered immediately. “I still have a key to that house in Monterey. I don’t think anyone’s been up there but the maid service in years.”

 

Arthur frowned; his body tensed up at Lancelot’s words. “You sure? I’d rather go someplace where we have no connections at all.”

 

The other man shook his head, his arm dropping from Arthur’s body and moving to the railing, leaning like Arthur was. “Trust me, Arthur. That place was barely used as it was. No one will know we’re there. I promise.” He smiled hopefully. Arthur couldn’t say no to that expression – not without a huge fight.

 

He saw his own image reflected in Lance’s eyes – huge, brown orbs that threatened to not only suck him in, but devour him raw.

 

“Okay. First thing in the morning, we’ll leave.”

 

One corner of Lancelot’s mouth rose, and he tucked himself under Arthur’s chin, tilting his head to plant his lips over Arthur’s heart. There was only about three inches of height difference between the two, but sometimes Lancelot felt as if he strode over Arthur like he was Godzilla, and Arthur was a hapless victim waiting to be crushed by his great reptilian foot.

 

“Monterey is it, Captain.”

 

Arthur laughed. “Don’t call me that. It’s funny in a not so ha ha kind of way.”

 

Lancelot smiled against Arthur’s neck, and his eyelashes fluttered against the other man’s skin. “Come to bed?”

 

Arthur followed Lance inside, helpless to do anything but.

 

*

 

_and all the broken tethers we can bring together  
I need to find some peace_

 

They made the drive in Arthur’s more economical Toyota quickly, the four hours passing comfortably in silence only broken by the radio. Lancelot’s eyes ticked over to Arthur’s face a few times, checking on him and his mood. His hand stole to rest on Arthur’s thigh; the other man covered it with his own shortly before returning his attention to the gear shift.

 

Lancelot had been right; the small house was clean, quiet, and utterly empty. There was coffee and cereal in the pantry, but that was it. Luckily they had brought a few groceries with them, Arthur having insisted so they didn’t have to shop while in the town.

 

The living room was open and sparsely decorated, minimal oak furniture and a wood burning fireplace dominating the space. Arthur walked through the whole place, admiring it’s simplicity. “This is nice,” he commented. “Very comfortable.”

 

“Did you see the bathroom?” Lance asked from the kitchen, where he was putting up the cold food. “Yes,” Arthur answered, “that may be the biggest shower I’ve ever seen.”

 

“What about the tub?” the younger man continued, walking into the living room, plopping himself down on the long couch that filled the plain east wall. “I think Gwen wanted it built that way. She used to love this house,” he said quietly, the thought making him smile. “I hope she gets to use it again,” Arthur replied, moving to sit next to Lancelot. He put his feet up on the coffeetable, having kicked his shoes off.

 

“So,” Arthur went on, attempting to distract Lance from his melancholia, “water?”

 

He tapped Lancelot on his leg with his fingers, then stood. “Come on. The sun waits for no man.”

 

*

 

Arthur dozed by the ocean, the waves pounding against the shore a rhythm his sleep deprived body couldn’t ignore. He had vaguely heard noises from Lancelot, mmm’ing once when the younger man had leant over him and said something about swimming out for a while…or it might have been surfing.

 

_When everything’s wrong I come talk to you  
you make things alright_

 

He pulled one of the iPod plugs out of his ear, and turned his head the opposite direction, his neck making a crick sound. He sighed happily. The sun beat down on his naked back, toasting him like a piece of bread.

 

This might have been the best idea Lance had had in years.

 

The sun was suddenly covered by a man shaped shadow, and he looked up, squinting one eye. Lancelot was standing there, grinning, breathing hard, the long board in his hand still coated in wax, his board shorts plastered to his body in a way that Arthur found hard to ignore. He sat up, tugging the other plug out of his ear.

 

“I can actually still surf. It’s like riding a bike, I guess,” he crowed happily. Tugging at the long strap that wrapped around his shoulder, he unzipped his neoprene top and jerked it over his head. His chest was criscrossed with red marks. “I only wiped out a few times. Not bad for a kid from the city.”

 

He layed his board down on the sand, and flopped onto the towel he threw down haphazardly. Arthur hadn’t seen him smiling like that in ages. He was suddenly struck with the intensity of the emotion and attachment he had for the other man, and it overwhelmed him like someone hitting him over the head with a two by four.

 

“I love you,” Arthur said abruptly, his hand reaching out to touch Lance’s chest once, tracing the welts left from the chafing wetsuit material.

 

Lancelot raised a hand, covering the sun so he could see Arthur’s eyes. “I know,” he answered softly, “…but you don’t know how it makes me feel to hear you say it.” He sat up, went to his knees, and clasped his arms around Arthur, his cheek resting on the older man’s hair. “Thank you.”

 

Arthur’s eyes slipped shut, his own arms twining around Lancelot’s body, his nose nuzzling at his neck, inhaling the heady combination of salt, sweat, and musky Lancelot. “For what?”

 

“For saving me.”

 

Arthur’s gut twisted at those words, and his little guilt monster started to knock on his mind’s door. He shoved it back forcefully, ignoring it. “I didn’t save you, Lancelot,” he said honestly. He felt the other man frown at the use of his name. “You made the decision; I just helped you find the starting point.”

 

_You push me over the edge_

 

“I couldn’t have even made the decision had it not been for you,” Lance insisted. Arthur didn’t argue; he knew that it would be futile. And if it made the other man happy to think he had been responsible for Lance being able to leave his situation, so be it.

 

The clouds began to gather, covering up the burning rays, making Lancelot shiver. “Brrr,” he laughed, “typical California. Wait a few hours if you don’t like the current weather.”

 

He let go of Arthur and stood. Grabbing his board, wetsuit top and towel, he began to walk back toward the house. Arthur followed more slowly, still sluggish from his rest.

 

Inside, he turned the air conditioner off, and opened the glass doors, leaving the screens shut so the bugs couldn’t get in. Dropping his stuff off in the laundry room, he changed quickly to a pair of dry shorts and hooded sweatshirt, making his way to the living room.

 

He had the room to himself. He could hear Lancelot running the shower, ostensibly to get the grit and surf wax off himself. Arthur caught snatches of Lancelot singing something; he smirked, and considered telling the man to not quit his day job, but he didn’t want to get shot in his sleep by an angry friend…especially one who could draw two guns in a crossgrip as fast as Lance could.

 

He was amazed at the change in the other man. He was still the same cocky, annoyingly self assured little brat he had always been, but with his enrollment in the academy – it was as if he had suddenly realized what was important in life and had taken it fully by the reins.

 

The self depreciating club goer disappeared; in his place a mature (well, slightly more mature), kind, aware and just generally happier person emerged from the brightly colored but brittle shell that Arthur had known forever.

 

Arthur kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so far – things were going well. His own career was extremely rewarding, if dangerous. That was actually one of the things he liked about it – it made him happy to be alive every night – boosted his self awareness and kept him from being taken over by doubt and egocentric thoughts.

 

For the first time in his life, he had the feeling Uther Castus would have been proud of his son. His weapons skills were unprecedented, and Arthur had taken up learning older forms of training as well, thanks to Lancelot’s interest in them. Swords, staffs, some Asian forms of self defense, fencing. All of it was fascinating, and challenging. He was becoming well rounded, and he liked it.

 

He bit his lip, trying to keep the traditional worry filled thoughts away, and by a supreme effort, managed it.

 

He had a wicked thought, and grinning, made his way on silent bare feet to the bathroom, the steam from the huge shower obscurring any sight Lancelot might have had of him.

 

Stripping off his clothing quietly, he pushed the sliding door open, the wood and glass paneling making no sound as he stepped into the shower, which might have been bigger than his bedroom. Two shower spouts, complete seating, and an array of massage heads that would make a therapist jealous took up most of the space.

 

He stood there a moment, watching Lancelot washing himself, still humming lightly.

 

“Hi,” Arthur said at last. He had to stifle a laugh as the other man jumped so high he thought Lancelot might of actually reached the ceiling.

 

“Fuck! Fucking hell, Arthur,” Lancelot cried, clutching at his chest, hastily wiping the soap out of his eyes. “Don’t do that! You almost made me piss myself.”

 

“Gross,” Arthur allowed himself to laugh finally, “that would have gotten me out of here in a hurry.” They grinned at each other like two idiots for a few minutes.

 

“Well, shit, why are you so far away still?” Lancelot asked. He beckoned with one hand. “Come rinse me off.”

 

Arthur stalked toward the other man, certainly not interested in hygiene at the moment. Lancelot’s back was still to him; Arthur pushed him up against the wood wall unexpectedly. He smiled when Lancelot gasped slightly. “What if I like you soapy?” he whispered into Lance’s ear, which produced an inticing wiggle from the other man that made Arthur’s body tighten.

 

“What if?” Lance replied, a tad breathlessly. “Do something about it.”

 

The steam rose around them, making their skin slick and easy to slide against one another. Lancelot bit Arthur’s hand that was next to his face on the wall once; Arthur retaliated by sinking his own teeth into Lance’s back. Their comingled moans and cries echoed in the stillness of the tiny house, no worry invading their bubble of time. 

 

They felt nothing but each other, and that was exactly all they had room for in their hearts. Later, when the rain finally broke open and Lancelot was curled in Arthur’s lap in front of the fire they had started, they didn’t speak or move much, except for a few kisses here and there. Arthur’s hand lay tangled in Lancelot’s hair. He let it slip to the other man’s neck, his fingers resting on the big pulse, the warm skin reassuring him, intoxicating him and making him sleepy.

 

That night, he didn’t wake. Not once.

 

_And I won’t be messing with the one thing that brings light to all my darkness_


End file.
